


Un jour, une histoire

by un_petit_peu_de_moi



Series: Day by day [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, FC Barcelona, First Times, Frottage, M/M, Messi having feelings but telling you none of it, also bottom Neymar, blowjob, humpjob to blowjob to assjob, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:32:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2522531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/un_petit_peu_de_moi/pseuds/un_petit_peu_de_moi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was hard to deny you were attracted to a guy once you had sucked his dick.</p><p>(Alternatively : Neymar discovers he has feelings, Neymar admits he has feelings, and then there is sex)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First step : discovering you have feelings

**Author's Note:**

> Well, Hello I guess.  
> It's my first work here. I'm not a native speaker, so there's bound to be mistakes, which I'm really sorry for. If you see any mistakes, or strange phrasing, please do tell me !  
> I'm probably not the best writer there is, but I learnt from past experience that in a fanfiction-deprived fandom such as the Neymessi fandom, it's sometimes better to read something badly written than to read nothing at all, so... Enjoy ?

It was weird. They hadn’t lost - not really - but they hadn’t won either. Nobody had won actually - that's what ties were after all. No winners, only losers. Still, after winning those first matches, being lauded like that, by the media and the fans alike – not winning against Malaga was a bit of a bummer.

Neymar was a positive person though, and he didn’t like dwelling on losses and ties, even if it was hard to ignore the depressed atmosphere in the locker room. They hadn’t been exactly brilliant tonight, and Neymar was well aware that he had made mistakes, but he still wasn’t all that fond of silence and _'what-ifs'_.

He slipped away to go to the restroom (no way he was going out with his hair looking like that), not really watching his steps. He bumped into someone as he entered the restroom. 

“Sorry,” he said as he looked up. He found Leo in front of him, also apologizing. Leo stepped back, allowing Neymar to come in.

Neymar didn’t say much more, and headed to the sink. He’d found the hard way that there was no need to talk to Leo after a disappointing match. He always seemed… out of it (and Neymar had trouble enough talking to him when he didn’t).

Looking in the mirror, he was surprised to find that Leo hadn't left, and was still standing there, silently staring at Neymar’s back.

He really did look out of it.

Leo must have noticed him looking, because his eyes moved and met his in the mirror. Yet he still didn’t say anything.

That was kind of awkward. Neymar didn’t have much choice then, but to talk to him, right? Even if he would most likely get some variation of a monosyllabic answer, sometimes, a man had to step up and do… _something_.

He turned around, meeting Leo’s eyes straight on. He waited for a few seconds, to give Leo a last chance to speak first, to say something, to do anything besides looking at him like that (it was creepy, and made him strangely self-conscious. Granted, he was always self-conscious around Leo, but still).

“So, it was… quite a match, right,” he said, and really, he didn’t know what else he could say - there was nothing to say. “Even though we, you know, lost." Neymar quickly corrected himself, "I mean tied. We didn't lose, but still. It was… something.”

Leo didn’t seem intent on making this awfully awkward atmosphere disappear, because he didn’t say anything, just kept on staring. Damn, maybe he had something on his face?

Neymar stole a glance at himself in the mirror behind him, and resumed his one-sided chat.

“We didn’t really play well, but we can do better. Next time we’ll definitely win. You’ll probably score a hat-trick or two." Neymar smiled at Leo, "You’re the best after all.”

He met Leo blank stare. _So awkward_. Why did he have to be so awkward? He’d accepted the fact that he’d never be able to talk to Leo without being nervous, although he had done some damn good progress, but it felt like all this progress was non-existent now, and he was back to being an awkward teenager meeting his idol for the first time. He never knew he sucked so much at making small talk.

“You always say that,” and that surprised Neymar, because - look at that! - Leo had finally woken up from his stupor, and now he was frowning at him (which- If Neymar could, he would have frowned at himself too).

“Say what?”

“You keep saying that I’m the best. But when the team loses, I lose too. There’s no such thing as being the best when you’re in a team. And if there was, it wouldn’t be me, not tonight.”

And, was-was that it? Had they reached a friendship level where Leo trusted him enough to share his insecurities with him? Did he need Neymar to comfort and reassure him?  
In this case, he just needed to assure Leo he was indeed the best, and he could do that. Wasn’t too hard to tell the truth.

“Of course there is!”, he said, smile wide and sincere, spreading his arms. “There’s no doubt about it, you _are_ the best. Even on a day like that, just having you there makes the team ten times better. I don’t know if a single individual can really make a difference, but _you_ , you can. You’re not just any individual, right? You’re Lionel Messi, and…”

He trailed off, going quieter as he noticed that didn’t seem to please Leo as much as he had expected. Instead, Leo's frown had deepened, and he was now _this close_ to sporting a unibrow.

Leo stalked forward, going straight for Neymar, and before he knew it, there was a Messi in his personal space, and wow, okay, right, _what did he even do_ , because he looked so annoyed right now. “What-”

“You know I’m just a normal guy, right?”, and no, Neymar didn’t, he begged to differ actually, “I’m not above anyone else. I’m not better than anyone else. Not better than the whole team, not better than you either. I played shit today."

“No, you didn’t, you-"

“I did,” Leo cut him off, lifting his hands to hold Neymar's head, somehow cupping his jaw, looking for all the world as though he wanted Neymar to just _get it_ , and now Neymar wad utterly and completely lost. Was he looking for a fight? Because if Leo hit him, Neymar wouldn’t hit back, that was for sure. “I don’t know why you keep saying that, but you don’t have to force yourself you know? I won’t reject you if you stop saying that I’m your idol.”

“You are though. I’m not lying, I really think you are,” Leo looked two seconds away from doing _something_ , and Neymar felt as though he was digging his own grave, but he couldn’t just stand there and say nothing while someone was bringing Lionel Messi down, even if this someone was Lionel Messi himself. “You’re so impressive, so damn impressive, you’re-“

Leo cut him off – again – expect he did so by kissing him this time. Neymar couldn’t say he saw that one coming.

He stood frozen, eyes wide and arms hanging by his side, shell-shocked, because _holy shit_ Lionel Messi was kissing him. Leo was kissing him. Leo was kissing him with soft lips, strong hands; he was kissing him heatedly, and there wasn’t much he could do besides work on instinct then. Neymar let out some sort of whine, kissing back hurriedly, like an inexperienced teenager, lifting his arms to grip Leo’s shirt almost desperately. No wait, scratch that, _completely_ desperately.

He didn’t have any idea what was going on, but the fanboy in him – the one who watched Leo during matches and training, who listened to him talk, laugh, be _so nice_ , and couldn’t help but be amazed – that fanboy wouldn’t let him back down from this. His heart had never beat this fast, his palms had never been this sweaty, he had never been so dizzy, but this was it, this was the _moment_ , and there was no other option but to share this rushed kiss with Leo - this open-mouthed, heated kiss. It felt like it was all he had ever wanted, except he had no idea he had even wanted it at all.

At this point, he was clinging to Leo’s shirt, as if he'd drown if he let go. It probably wasn’t very effective, because he was drowning anyway; drowning in the kiss and in Leo’s scent.

Leo’s tongue met his - lapping or caressing, or whatever it was that tongues did when they met - but it felt good, and hot. One of his hands had gone from his jaw to his hair, gripping a handful of it, and the other had went south, rubbing his stomach, his torso, his nipples through his shirt (who knew men nipples could even get hard).

The kiss they exchanged was becoming increasingly messier with the need to breathe. They’d separate only for a moment, puffing warm breath on each other’s face before their mouths met again. Neymar’s hands moved too. One of his hand went to grip the hair at the base of Leo’s neck, almost pulling, in a way that had to hurt. His other hand had gripped the back of his shirt, so he could push Leo flush against him, until there wasn’t enough space for both their legs, and they had no choice but to intertwine them. Leo’s thigh went between Neymar’s own, pushing against his boner, and wow, okay, when did he even get hard? Either he had developed the ability to harden extremely fast, or they had been at it for longer that he thought, which – considering how he was gasping for breath as if he’d run a marathon right now – might actually be true.

Neymar had lost all shyness it seemed, for he couldn’t help the tiny grinds against Leo’s thigh. Now that he was aware of his hard-on, it felt like the pressure there was unbearable, and he needed – he needed _relief_ , lest he died, because nobody could bear that much pressure.

Leo managed to press his crotch against his, and _surprise_ , because Leo was just as hard as he was, and that was even hotter than the kiss in a way, the fact that kissing _him_ had made Leo hard. That _he_ was making Leo hard.

Leo lifted his shirt, up to his neck, and flushed their chests together to trap it there, both his hands now roaming freely over the exposed skin of his back and stomach, until one settled on his hips, anchoring itself there to have leverage to _thrust_. Thrust both their erections together, rubbing through the fabric of their pants. It was constricting as hell, but Neymar didn’t want to get rid of their pants. As much as he had the sudden urge to see Leo’s dick (fuck, that was so _gay_ ), he just didn’t have the time. Stripping down meant separating, meant stopping grinding against Leo, and he was way too needy for that. He needed to come as soon as possible, because it was all _too much_.

Their humping was becoming faster, more erratic also. They were totally out of sync – Leo seeming just as desperate and hurried as he was. Neymar was trying his best no to make any embarrassing sounds, but in between erratic panting, there was no denying the occasional needy whines that he let out, most of the time muffled by their kiss. That was, until Leo decided to move down, kissing along his jaw and then down his neck, sucking there. Neymar titled his head to the side without thinking, to allow Leo better access. He tried to quiet the part of him that was positively squealing at the idea that Leo was somehow _marking_ him, and concentrated on the feeling deep in his guts.

He was close, so close - he could feel it, and judging by Leo’s pace, so was he. He gripped Leo’s shirt and hair harder with his useless hands (what had they even done the whole time? It may well be his only chance to ever touch Leo, and they couldn’t do anything more that _cling_ ), clenching his fists until his knuckles were white, still embracing Leo, and now hunching around him, trying to huddle around him, as he felt himself going.

He let out a silent gasp as he came, stilling, stiffening in the momentum, while he could feel Leo thrusting some more before groaning and biting his shoulder, reaching his climax as well.

After that, it was only panting. Leo’s moist breath on his neck, his arms around his body, while he himself was still clinging onto Leo, resting his weight on him.

After some time, when they had both caught their breath, they disentangled, Neymar’s shirt sliding back down on his torso. There were fists-induced wrinkles on Leo’s shirt, and he wasn’t sure they’d go away with ironing. Or maybe, some good ironing. Some really, _really_ good ironing.

Basically, neither of them said anything.

It was way easier for Neymar to stare at Leo’s wrinkled shirt that to look at his face right now. He was coming down hard from his climax, and slowing making his way to ' _awkward_ ' again. What do you say to a guy once you had both jizzed your pants because of excessive humping? Should they high-five? Fist bump? Laugh as if it was a common occurrence in the oh-so-manly world of football?

Thankfully, Neymar didn’t have to answer these questions, because a voice was calling their names in the corridor, and judging by the annoyed tone, may have been doing so for some time now.

“Shit,” Leo said. He fixed his clothes, passed a hand through his hair to try and fail to make them look decent. He made a step towards the door, stopped, and glanced back at Neymar. Their eyes met for a second and Leo looked as though he wanted to say something. In the end, he didn’t. His shoulders slumped and he sighed.

Before going out, he glanced one last time at Neymar, his eyes drifting down to his neck, and Neymar swore he saw the corner of Leo's mouth twitch before he went out.

All of that had happened so fast. Neymar stood still, listening as Leo apologized to Dani in the corridor. Dani, who was telling him there were supposed to have left like, 10 years ago, and where the hell was Neymar, and alright, that gave life to Neymar quite fast, turning around, fixing his clothes, his hair, passing water on his face, and hurriedly going for the door to follow in Leo’s steps, before Dani got there himself (God no, Dani would _know_ ).

Before he reached the door, he still chanced a look at the mirror. And above the wrinkled shirt, the ruffled hair, the red lips, and the glossed eyes, what really caught his attention was the pink hickey on his neck.

(He was _so_ fucked)


	2. Second Step : Admitting you have feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone !  
> Thank you for the comments and the kudos. :-)  
> I realize the summary of this story is actually quite misleading, since there is no actual blowjob until this chapter actually.  
> I tried to update that part fast, because I won't be able to do anything before next week, and I don't trust myself to complete work if I don't do it fast.  
> At any rate, enjoy, and sorry for the possible typos and mistakes. :-)

Barely a week had passed and Neymar was having a mid-life crisis.

 

Up until now, he had always been sure of one thing: there was no better player than Leo, he was a pure genius, and everything he did was amazing. In short, he was a big fan. When his move to Barcelona became certain, the prospect of playing with Lionel Messi had made him feel both nervous and elated. Ever since then, that was still how he felt about playing with him. Leo was his idol, his football-crush. Someone who was also growing to become something of a friend ( _maybe, hopefully_ ).

 

But now, he'd kissed Leo, grind against him until they both came, and that was quite the game-changer.

 

For a while, Neymar had thought he could pass it off as some sort of youthful experiment.

 

Most probably, Leo was frustrated with the tie against Malaga, and he thought he could use Neymar to blow off some steam, and really, who was Neymar to refuse giving him a hand (he wished he had touched Messi with his hand, he wondered what it would have felt like to touch his dick, to jerk him off maybe, maybe- just, fuck, so _damn gay_ ).

 

The uncomfortable and awkward atmosphere that lasted a few days between them after that was to be expected, but really, it had been a one-time kind of thing, it would pass.

 

The only big problem Neymar had was understanding _why the hell had he been so eager to kiss Leo?_

 

He remembered it, clear as day, how it had felt ( _and yet, he didn’t remember enough, didn’t remember Leo’s sweaty scent and the taste of his lips, or the feel of his hands against his skin_ ). He remembered wanting it. He remembered how it felt as if his world had changed, as if he had finally come to his sense, finally discovered his– his _purpose_ in life, or something.

 

Neymar didn’t know what had happened, but he knew it had been more than just two guys humping against each other after a tie to find solace.

 

 _God_ , it had been so much more than that.

 

It had been barely 6 days, and it was all happening too fast.

 

The amazement when he looked at Leo, the joy when they talked, being happy when they laughed together, watching him (maybe too often, maybe too intently); what he thought was only due to his being a fan and to Leo being a damn nice guy – all of that felt different now. Because each time he was around him, he’d just remember, and _yearn_. And the worst thing was that this yearning feeling, he realized, was actually how he'd always felt about Leo. Except now he was putting a name on it. His body and his mind were both making him realize that he didn’t like Leo the way you like an idol or a friend.

 

There was no other way of putting it : he had a crush on Leo.

 

A real, honest-to-God crush on his teammate, and by the look of it, it had been there for a long time. For so long actually that calling it a crush was a complete understatement. But it had only been 5 days _goddamn it_ , and it was going _way_ too fast.

 

As of right now, the relationship he had with Leo was good. They found each other on the pitch, they talked and shared jokes. Every time he scored, or Leo scored, Neymar felt an unrivaled elation, celebrating goals with Leo as if he belonged. It felt good. It felt good, it was perfect, exactly what Neymar wanted, or what he had thought he wanted.

 

Now it wasn’t enough. He wanted more, and it sucked so much. He could be having it all, if not for this damn attraction he felt.

 

Talking to Leo over the last few days hadn’t been easy (goal celebrations were still vibrant and euphoric, _thank god_ ). Well, Leo was, for the most part, acting like everything was normal. Except for this time where their eyes had met, and Leo had been sporting a look of _“something happened between us and we both know that”_ , without any indication of how _that_ made him _feel_ , and Neymar was lost. He didn’t know where he stood with Leo anymore (which was just great: one year of hard work gone to waste).

 

Why was Leo acting so normal? His best guess was this “solace-seeking” theory, but the way it had happened had just been plain weird, and if he was being honest with himself, Leo didn’t seem like the type of dude who shared handjobs with his teammates after a disappointing match (except it hadn’t been a handjob, and how he _wished_ it had been).

 

That was another part of the problem: those dirty, lustful thoughts; the one which wanted to reiterate the experience, and kept wondering what it would feel like to have more.  What would it feel like to touch Leo? What would it feel like to see him naked? What would it feel like to see his dick hard ( _because of_ _him_ )? What would Leo’s hands feel like around his dick, what would it feel like to touch Leo’s dick, what did it taste like, what-

 

That’s where he tried to draw the line, because it was all _so damn gay_.

 

He didn’t even know when he'd started thinking about sucking another guy's dick, but he was thinking about it now. He wouldn’t even _know_ how to go about it, it probably tasted _awful_ , but he kept wondering.

 

Neymar didn’t like over-thinking things, and now all he could do was think, and it felt horrible.

 

On the other hand, thinking about Leo right now kept him from thinking about losing 3-2 to PSG.

 

Well, once again, Neymar didn’t like dwelling on losses, but they had _tried_ and they had _lost_. For the first time since the start of the season ; so this time, he felt entitled to be more disappointed than usual. Neymar thought he handled pressure and expectations pretty well, but all the praises may have gotten to his head after all - to all of their heads really - because the atmosphere in the locker room had felt like they had lost 3-0 and all three goals had been own goals.

 

Between that, and the Leo-thing, he doubted he’d get a good night of sleep. If he thought about the loss, he was bound to remember Leo silent and brooding in the locker room, and if he thought about Leo, he’d have weird thoughts again. What if he dreamed about him and awoke with a hard-on _(again)_? That would be hard to explain to Dani.

 

 _Dani_. God, that had been so close. Going out of this restroom, sporting this hickey on his neck (or maybe it was a bite mark, Neymar actually couldn’t tell). Thankfully, when he went out, the only thing Dani did was glare, and then walk forward, in front of him, complaining all the way to the bus. Then, it was only a matter of sitting on just the right side, so nobody could see the mark. Thankfully, nobody had noticed anything, but that had still been too close. And if he were to wake up with a hard-on tomorrow while he was rooming with Dani… He doubted the guy would let that pass. He was mean like that.

 

He put on a short for the night – Dani was adamant on the fact that you _did not_ sleep with only your underwear when you were rooming with a guy, and even more so when said underwear looked like they were a size too small – and went to pass some water on his face and his neck.

 

There was a soft knock on the door, even though he was pretty sure Dani had taken his key when he had left (to clear his mind, he'd said).

 

“It’s open”, he shouted, going out of the bathroom, a bit curious.

 

Leo entered the room. Neymar stood still, surprised as Leo looked straight at him and Neymar wished he could read Leo’s eyes, because everything he did was just confusing. Before Neymar had the time to react, Leo turned around to lock the door.

 

Locking the door of someone else's hotel room was a bit weird. The only reason Neymar could think of for Leo to have done that… It wasn’t a reason Neymar wanted to think about (even though it was the only thing he could think about).

 

“You need something?”, he asked, avoiding eye-contact at all costs. Actually, to make this avoidance easier, he turned around pretending to busy himself with charging his phone.

 

Despite his heart, beating like crazy in his ears, he still heard quiet footsteps coming towards him. They sounded hesitant at first, but as they approached, they seemed a to grow more confident. Too fast for Neymar’s liking, Leo was in his back, hovering behind him, close but not touching.

 

Neither of them moved for several seconds. Neymar had stopped pretending he was charging his phone (there was only so many time you could un-plug and re-plug your phone without looking ridiculous). Leo hadn’t said a thing, and if it wasn’t for the warm breath on his neck and the warmth radiating from his body, Neymar wouldn’t even know he was here.

 

Then, there was a hand - Leo’s hand - touching his neck, caressing with the tips of his fingers without putting any pressure. From his neck, the fingers went to his bare shoulders, his shoulders blades, brushed along his spine until they were against his lower back. Once there, the y stilled for a second, and then Leo pressed down on that spot in the little of his back, letting out a hoarse _Neymar_ that gave him goose bumps.

 

There were things in Leo’s voice, feelings. He sounded as if he was trying to tell him something. Unfortunately, Neymar had never understood what Leo didn’t say (and sadly, Leo had a tendency not to say things).

 

He wondered if Leo had a condition, if he got aroused each time they lost, and when Neymar had stumbled upon him the other day, he had thought _fuck it_ and took advantage of Neymar unknown-at-the-moment crush to relieve himself. Or if he had some-sort of bucket list, or just a list of thing to do before turning 30, which included experiencing gay sex. Or if losses affected him hard and he sought to find comfort in someone else’s embrace.

 

At any rate, what Neymar understood was that there was a tense atmosphere between them right now, and that whatever the reason was, Leo had came to him. He had came to him, not to anyone else, and even if Neymar didn’t understand everything that was going on, he knew what Leo wanted right now.

 

And luckily, it was what he wanted too.

 

So he turned around, swiftly, grabbing Leo’s head with both hands and kissing him, all in a second, so as not to let any of them the time to protest. Then, it was a repeat of their first kiss: the adrenalin, the desperation, and the rush. Except this time, Neymar wasn’t acting on instinct. He was kissing Leo _purposefully_ , and he didn’t lose any time being shy, his hands doing what they should have done the last time, and _touching_.

 

He rubbed along Leo’s strong arms, feeling the muscles under his fingertips. He caressed Leo’s head, almost massaging it. He felt Leo’s torso through his shirt, then under it, passing his hand along his abs and feeling them tense under his touch. His hand traveled to Leo’s back, feeling the strong muscles of his shoulders blade.

 

Feeling Leo, touching him, was such an entirely new experience. It felt good, to map Leo’s skin, and he found just touching once wasn’t enough. So, his hands kept on making this same travel over and over, like a mad man. Leo didn’t seem to mind though. He let himself groan in his mouth, and his hands became rougher when Neymar touched particular places (Neymar tried to remember them).

 

Leo’s hands hadn’t stayed still either.

 

His left hand was on the back on Neymar’s head, holding it firmly in place. The other was— well, for all intents and purposes, the other was playing with his nipples, rubbing, caressing and pinching, which felt unexpectedly not bad.  _'Not bad',_ in a way that made Neymar's dick hard, and made him moan, his moans blending with Leo’s own as they kissed. 

 

Like the last time, Neymar was breathless in a matter of seconds. Breathing wasn’t helped by the fact that they were both unwilling to break the kiss, and had to breathe _while_ making out. No way was Neymar stopping. No way was he giving up on this. He put everything he had in this kiss. He didn’t really care who controlled it, he just wanted to kiss Leo with all he had, to never stop kissing him. To kiss him until Leo was convinced kissing Neymar had to become a thing (it _had_ to become a thing).

 

As Neymar was on his umpteenth round of mapping Leo’s back, Leo must have decided that they weren’t touching enough (and _God_ , didn’t Neymar share the sentiment), because his right hand ghosted over Neymar’s back and went to his ass, grabbing his buttocks to push Neymar flush against him. And then, instead of moving his hand away - like Neymar expected him to - he kept it there, touching his ass.

 

If Neymar hadn’t been so busy exploring Leo’s body, he might have taken the time to freeze, because it was weird, right? To have another guy touch your ass. As it was, Neymar was indeed too engrossed in touching and kissing to really care, and Leo was free to rub and hold his ass – although Neymar did jump a little when he squeezed it (it wasn’t supposed to arouse him, right? Because it most certainly did).

 

Pressed as he was against Leo, he could clearly feel his erection against his thigh.

 

He wondered if the same thing was going to happen; if they were going to grind against each other again, or if he might get to see and touch Leo’s dick this time. If he went for it, Leo wouldn’t stop him, would he? He didn’t know any guy who’d protest a handjob – except for straight guys who might not been too keen on the thing, but Leo was kissing him and touching his ass, so he probably wasn’t too disgusted by him being a guy.

 

Actually, Leo looked far from being disgusted.

 

Neymar took the time to feel how Leo was touching him (it was electrifying, and it was making a mess out of him), and he began to really wonder about what Leo wanted from him, because – as Neymar discovered – he was down with anything. Humping against each other legs like dogs, rubbing their naked dicks against each other’s, jerking each other off, sucking--

 

Yeah, so Neymar was totally down with sucking Leo off.

 

If he was being honest with himself, he had been down with it that first time too. If Leo had asked him to then, he would have done it. If he asked him to _now_ , he’d do it. It would be awkward as fuck, there was a 50% chance he might hate the taste and be disgusted, he wouldn’t know how to keep his teeth in check, and it would probably feel bad for both Leo and himself, but still… He’d get on his knees in a heartbeat if Leo so much as asked.

 

Neymar kind of wished Leo would ask.

 

And because Neymar often worked on instinct, and since right now, the only thing he was thinking of was the happy encounter between his mouth and Leo’s cock— In one  swift movement, Neymar's hands went to Leo’s belt buckle and he let himself fall on his knees. Leo stilled for a moment, seemingly surprised ( _ah!_ That made the both of them), but as soon as Neymar got his dick out, he relaxed. His hands went to his head, caressing it, and he said _Neymar_ , in a low voice that sent chills down his spine. He could feel Leo’s eyes boring into him as he looked at his dick. He lifted his hand slowly, hesitantly, and let his fingers run along the flesh.

 

It was warm. It was—It was a penis, that was for sure, which looked just like Neymar’s (except it was paler, thicker, hairier), and who felt exactly the same under his touch (except if felt softer, harder, more alive).

 

It actually felt completely different. He certainly didn’t get a kick out of touching his own dick as he did touching Leo’s.

 

He let his fingers run along the shaft, before taking it his hand, more confidently. He jerked Leo off for a bit, enjoying the feel of it in his hands and the way Leo’s breath hitched. He was going at it slowly, doing it more for his own benefit that for Leo's.

 

His aim wasn’t to only give Leo a hand though.

 

He let out a shaky breath and moved slowly his head towards Leo’s crotch. He closed his eyes, for a second, before deciding he wanted to watch. So, with half-lidded eyes, still feeling Leo’s stare on his face and his hands in his hair, he brought Leo’s dick closer to his mouth and put his lips on it. He repeated the action, leaving it at that: his lips simply touching without pressing, essentially kissing the thing. Leo’s hands had tightened in his hair, and he had heard his breath stop as soon as his lips had made contact with his cock, and Neymar had definitely gotten some satisfaction out of that.

 

As for his personal sentiment on the thing—

 

Neymar tried giving a tentative lick on the shaft, to taste. He gave a second one, out of professionalism (like—proofreading?).

 

It was—weird, for a lack of a better word. It didn’t taste bad like he had expected. It was bit salty, a bit sweaty, and if felt hot under his tongue. It wasn’t disgusting – which was good. He couldn’t say he was particularly moved by the taste in itself.

 

On the other hand, it was _Leo’s_. Leo’s taste, Leo under his tongue, Leo who was hard because of him and _that_ , that did something to Neymar. 

 

He licked the shaft some more, to try to ascertain what he was feeling. He let his mouth run along it, from the head to the base, and then back. He did so until it got sloppy. Leo wasn’t protesting much to the experiment, except for the occasional tugs on his hair, and Neymar decided it may have been time to try the actual “sucking” part of the whole blowjob thing.

 

He put the head into his mouth first, and tried sucking on it a bit.

 

It got a reaction out of Leo, the hand caressing his head almost immediately gripping it instead, hard, pulling on his scalp in the process. Neymar let out an involuntary whimper, the shaft slipping out of his mouth as Neymar drew back and reflexively clenched his hand around the base (that had got to hurt, too).

 

Leo’s voice was hoarse as he said, “Sorry, sorry”, and tried to appease Neymar by massaging his scalp gently.

 

Neymar opened his eyes, which he seemed to have closed under the pain, and looked up at Leo. Leo was giving him an apologetic smile, which turned into a gentle smile when he noticed Neymar looking. It was the first time their eyes met since he had set about blowing Leo off. Leo’s dick was still hard in his hand, and his eyes were intense as they stared at each other. Aside from the obvious apology, the look in his eyes-

 

He looked at Neymar as if – him, on his knees, in front of Leo – was the most arousing thing he had ever seen, while at the same time looking almost _tenderly_ at him.

 

It was too much trouble for Neymar to try and decipher Leo at this point (not to mention being stared at while he attempted to give a head was utterly embarrassing) and he wasn’t done with his task, the little sample he had of Leo’s dick in his mouth not being really enough to satiate his curiosity.

 

He broke eye contact (but Leo didn’t stop watching), and looked back at the shaft in his hand. He brought the head to his mouth, again, frowning a bit as he put it back in his mouth, fearing a new hair pulling episode. Leo either controlled himself, or was over the initial surprise, because while he did grab Neymar hair, he didn’t pull it. It was only a slight pressure on his scalp, and it was actually kind of nice.

 

Satisfied he wasn’t going to get scalped anytime soon, Neymar focused on the dick in his mouth. He hummed a bit around it to see – causing a sharp intake of breath above him (he tried to keep that in mind), and tried sucking again on the head. He bobbed his head once, seeing how far he could take it in his mouth. He was kind of disappointed when he couldn’t much take more than the head in. He was pretty sure the girls he’d been with could take him in almost to the base, and he had sort of thought it was an immediate magical process that allowed you to deepthroat.

 

So, he bobbed his head again, out of _professionalism_. He tried sucking on the shaft while doing so, but he was pretty sure his teeth scraped along it a few times. Leo didn’t say anything though, so he didn’t stop. He kept on sucking his dick like that, moving up and down, and covering with his hand what he couldn’t get into his mouth. He tried humming and sucking a few times more.

 

It felt nice.

 

Once again, Neymar wasn’t overcome by the taste in itslef. On the other hand, there was something he liked in the actual act of sucking. It was bit like a giant lollipop, and Neymar enjoyed lollipops. There was also the fact that the dick was heavy in his mouth, and if he flattened his tongue against it and focused, he could almost feel it beating (it was more likely that he could feel Leo’s pulse, thanks to the blood that had to be circulating somewhere in here, but all Neymar knew was that it was _pulsing_ , and nothing else really mattered).

 

Most of all, Leo’s breathing was completely erratic, and his hands tightened sporadically in his hair. He had put his second hand on Leo’s hips, and he could feel his restlessness. He could feel Leo trying not to buck up into his mouth, not to thrust, and while he hoped Leo didn’t actually lose control (he didn’t think he could take some actual mouth-fucking), the fact that he _might_ was strangely flattering (and creepily exciting).

 

Every time Leo tightened his grip on Neymar’s hair, he unclenched it the second after, and massaged his scalp instead. Leo’s running his fingers through his hair was a damn nice feeling, and Neymar was considering letting it grow. There was also the added bonus of Leo low voice, who’d sometimes let out a _fuck_ , sometimes a _Neymar_ , and sometimes a mix of the two.

 

All in all, sucking a dick felt better than he had expected, and Neymar thought he wouldn’t be averse to doing it again.

 

All of those things put together led to Neymar himself being quite aroused. He wore some loose shorts and comfortable boxer, but it still felt as constricting as if he’d been wearing tight jeans. He let the hand holding Leo’s hips fall down to his own crotch, palming himself over the fabric to relieve some tension.

 

He was able to take more of Leo’s dick in his mouth now, his throat seemingly relaxing the more he went at it. Once he was able to go far enough, he stopped covering the base with his hand, flattening it instead against Leo’s pelvis, holding the dick in the gap between his thumb and his forefinger.

 

He tried deepthroating from time to time, not really succeeding, choking on the dick and having to move back not to gag, even more so for the fact that each time he tried that, Leo would buck his hips without meaning to (at least Neymar hoped he didn’t mean to). Choking in itself wasn’t arousing, but being able to take, if only for a moment, all of Leo’s cock in his mouth (well, he may be exaggerating, but it sure felt like all of it), for some reason, it made him extremely _hot_.

 

He was getting worked up.

 

He was sweating, his hair was damp, and without meaning to, the hand on his own crotch rubbed more actively his dick through his pants. He could feel the outline of his erection through the fabric and he was so very tempted to just jerk himself off, but masturbating while giving a blowjob felt…gay.

 

Yet, he was painfully hard, and he could tell – from the way Leo’s hands in his hair gripped more than they grabbed, from the way he bucked up more often and the way his breathing quickened – that he was close. And Neymar wanted to come too. He glanced up. Leo was watching him – had kept on watching him - always with those same damn eyes of his – and he knew there was no way he could jerk off without Leo seeing it.

 

 _Damn it_. Masturbating while sucking a dick wasn’t that much more embarrassing that sucking a dick in itself, he decided. So he slipped his hand under his boxer, and finally got a hand around his dick. He moaned deeply, around Leo’s shaft, and reveled in the effect it had on Leo.

 

He tried quickening the pace of the blowjob, but found it was bit hard and had to resort to covering back the base of Leo’s dick with his hand. From then on, it was much easier to quicken the pace, and seeing how aroused he already was, the hand on his own dick almost immediately matched the pace of the one on Leo’s dick.

 

He closed his eyes as he felt his orgasm building up, too overwhelmed to maintain all his senses. When his climax came, it came hard. Neymar clenched his eyes, bright white spots under his eyelids, and he tightened his hands, on both his and Leo’s prick. Leo must have come from this, because he felt him thrust once into his mouth, too deeply for Neymar’s taste, who instinctively moved his head back not to choke, and opened his eyes as he did so.

 

There, one could say he was also greeted by bright white spots. White spots who splattered all over his face and into his open mouth.

 

Neymar was still for a while, trying to regain his breath, just now realizing how much he needed air, and how much he hadn’t remembered that fact while he was sucking Leo off.

 

Admittedly, he didn’t really know how to react to Leo cumming in his mouth and on his face. He thought that there had been some kind of silent agreement between them that Leo would warn him before coming. It seemed Leo was a bit surprised himself, standing still, but to his credit, he stepped out of his stupor as soon as Neymar raised his wide eyes to look at him, crouching down and apologizing. He held Neymar’s head in his hands, and studied his face.

 

“Sorry”, he said again, but Neymar doubted the sincerity of this apology, because Leo didn’t look so much apologetic as sheepish right now, a glimpse of arousal in his eyes as he took in Neymar’s face. Still, he wiped the semen off gently, using his own shirt to do so. He passed the shirt gently over his lips too.

 

It felt nice to be taken care of like that, but there was still semen in his mouth, and Neymar had one of two choices: spit it or swallow it. He thought the experience wouldn’t be complete if he didn’t taste everything, so he chose the second option. He frowned at the taste as he swallowed. It was weird. On the other hand, everything up to this point had been weird anyway. It wasn’t good, but neither was it disgusting. If he had to describe it, he would say it was so-so.

 

Leo had watched him swallow with hungry eyes (yeah, he didn’t look apologetic _at all_ ).

 

There was a moment of silence then. Both of them still, simply staring into each other eyes. Leo broke the exchange after a few seconds, and looked down, at Neymar’s torso.

 

Neymar kind of wished he hadn’t.

 

He was covered with his own semen, and that was embarrassing enough as it was without Leo seeing it. Leo wouldn’t be remembered in this moment for the sympathy he demonstrated, since, instead of politely averting his eyes and ignoring the fact that Neymar seemingly got off on blowing him off, he kept looking and he smirked. Neymar couldn’t say he had often seen Leo smirk.

 

That, and the hair-pulling and the hips bucking, led Neymar to think that sex really did bring the worst out of people (except for the part where that had been kind of hot to see nice, calm and composed Leo lose control).

 

Leo opened his mouth then, to formulate what Neymar hoped was an apology. He was cut off by the doorknob turning.

 

There was a moment of pure, unaltered panic in Neymar’s mind. He saw Leo freeze and his eyes widen, and Neymar positively stopped breathing. There was no way to explain this situation, no way to get out of this, there was – there was still semen all over his chest for fuck’s sake, it was—it was going to be a disaster, his whole world was starting to shatter around him, when—

 

Well, his world didn’t shatter around him. The only thing that happened was the door not moving, the lock doing a fine job of keeping it closed.

 

He heard Dani say “ _what the fuck_ ”, and remembered that Leo had locked the door when he'd come in.

 

_Thank God._

 

Short respite, for Dani’s second fruitless try was followed by a “I thought I hadn’t locked it” and then the sound of rummaging, which reminded him that Dani _did_ have the key and _fucking shit_ -

 

Neymar had never moved so fast in his life, going straight for the bathroom and locking himself in, leaving Leo to deal with this situation.

 

He heard Leo activate himself on the other side, possibly trying to tuck himself in and right his clothes at the same time. He must have succeeded because by the time Dani had opened the door (given the time it took him, he must have taken an awfully long time finding his key), the frantic ruffling noise had stopped.

 

His heart was beating fast in his ears, and he was breathing loudly, but he was still able to distinguish Leo and Dani talking. There was no effusion, no fits of anger and no mockery. He heard Leo leave after some time, so it seemed like everything had gone well and Leo had found a way to explain what he was doing here with his hair and his shirt looking so messy.

 

He should have felt a little guilty, leaving Leo alone like that, but 1) Leo wasn’t the one sporting semen on his torso; 2) Leo was the one who came here to sex him up in the first place; 3) well, it was his fault anyway. Like, _sure_ , locking the door had been a nice idea, except for the fact that Dani _obviously_ had the key, and who else except Dani would even enter the room?

 

To be fair, it did save them from the worst possible scenario, which was Dani finding them sitting way too close to each other with their cocks out.

 

“Neymar, you in here?”, Dani called, coming near the bathroom. “Hurry up, I need to use the bathroom!”

 

“Uh, yeah, yeah, coming !”. _No need to be nervous_ , he told himself. That would be suspicious, and Leo had somehow found a credible way of explaining his being there.

 

“You could have invited me though. I mean, really, you convinced Leo to partake in a Pillow-Fight and you didn’t invite me? I thought we were bros.”

 

Neymar heart skipped a beat. A pillow-fight? _Really_? What would he be doing, pillow-fighting with Leo at nearly midnight? On the other hand, it was a nice way to explain Leo's disheveled state.

 

Still. A _pillow-fight?!_

 

At any rate, as long as Dani had believed it (why would he even believe that in the first place? Well, to be fair, he’d personally believe anything Leo’d tell him, but _still_.)

 

Reassured, he started moving around, washing his face and his torso, and brushing his teeth for good measure, taking some extra time for the sole purpose of annoying Dani. As he went to bed that night, he tried imagining having a pillow-fight with Leo, and found it might be nice to try it one day.

 

(He also thought about Leo’s dick in his mouth, and found it might be nice to do it again one day too).


	3. Third Step : Acting upon your feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done. 
> 
> You may have noticed a rating change; I don't really know the difference between Mature and Explicit, so I drew the line at anal sex.  
> In other news, here's the final part, featuring penetrative sex and actual exchange of words between Leo and Neymar. It may be a bit long for something that is basically only smut, but well.  
> Also, it features unprotected sex, which is something that you shouldn't do so... Do use protections please !
> 
> Anyway, it's done and over with, I'm free, and I hope you'll enjoy it !

Neymar flopped face-first on his bed. He was only clad in his boxer briefs, but he couldn’t be bothered to slip under the cover, instead burying his head into his pillow, clenching his fists into it. He let out a deep and long sigh.

 

Damn it.

 

Neymar didn’t, _couldn’t_ understand the Clasico like the rest of the team did, didn’t _feel_ it like Leo, Xavi or Gerard did, and he would probably never be as involved in the derby as they were, but he could still feel the tension in those matches, could still feel it being important. And so even to him, losing a match against Real Madrid felt worse than any other loss.

 

It had started _so good_ too. Luis couldn’t hold the entire match, but they linked during the first part, and they had occasions. They missed chances, alright, but there were supposed to be more of them, and they would have scored then. Instead they were all over the place, they couldn’t stop Real from scoring, and Neymar couldn’t do a single thing during the whole match. So much for someone who scored in the first minute of the match. Useless achievements.

 

There was also the fact that Leo was injured. Well, he had played the game on painkillers. While he seemed fine during the first half, there was only so much you could do on painkillers could you?

 

At any rate, with or without Leo at his best, they should have been able to do something; Neymar should have been able to do something.

 

Damn, there went his 'no dwelling on losses' policy. So frustrating.

 

Neymar couldn’t deal with this. He thought he was rather good with putting up with pressure, but shit, losing felt bad, and he felt even worse because of the part of his brain that kept thinking that _something_ was going to happen.

 

 _Something_ , because he wasn’t a total idiot, and he could recognize a pattern when there was one. And there was a pattern, wasn’t there?

 

They lost for the first time since the start of the season in la Liga, and even worse, they lost against Real Madrid. Leo had done his best, but he’d seemed really upset after the match. He'd been taken to the physiotherapists so they could check up on him. He was probably tired and upset right now, as he always was after losses, and still, Neymar couldn’t help but _expect_.

 

He should be feeling bad about the loss (and god, he _did_ ), but there was still that part of him that was waiting excitingly for what was going to happen, that was waiting for Leo to seek him out.

 

According to his own calculus, there was 8/10 chance that Leo would initiate something. And the two remaining cases were covered by Neymar initiating something. He was working himself up way too much for nothing to happen. Not to mention the fact that he was rooming with Leo tonight.

 

The coach didn’t believe in set rooming arrangements, and seemed keen on mixing them up all together; hence, a drawing before each away game to know who will room together. He’d already roomed with Leo the night before, and nothing had happened, which only reinforced the idea that Leo only sought him out when they didn’t win (it gave Neymar contradictory feelings, because it was both flattering and not flattering at all, and it made him feel guilty of associating losses with orgasms).

 

The night had been uneventful. Leo hadn’t done or said anything. They had played FIFA, both choosing Barcelona like the dedicated footballer they were, and then they’d went to bed. It had looked like quite the regular night, except Neymar had actually spent it freaking out, in his bed, trying to listen to Leo’s breathing, while at the same time doing its utmost best to hide his head under his pillow to hide (that was an impossible feat, and the only thing Neymar had heard was the sounds of his rustling the sheets).

 

Neymar hadn’t slept much, and he had spent the night thinking about Leo, about kissing Leo, about touching Leo, and about Leo’s dick.

 

It had been a month. A month since he had willingly sunk to his knees and sucked Leo’s cock. Nothing had happened between them ever since, but Neymar kept thinking about it, kept dreaming about it, and it was becoming unbearable. So much so that Neymar had almost wished they would lose so Leo would come to him again, and _how_ he despised himself for thinking that, even for a second. He could have borne with it a little longer if it had meant not losing this Clasico.

 

Just like before, Leo gave no indication that something was off between them, except from those sparse looks he’d sometimes get; the one that made Neymar sure Leo _was_ thinking about it but unsure of _what_ he was thinking about it. In the end, it was only Neymar, trying his best to act normal while thinking an unhealthy amount of time a day about his teammate’s dick.

 

All of those doubts made Neymar tense and nervous. That’s why, he was anxious enough as it was, he didn’t need the damn _sexual fantasies_ his brain came up with.

 

Fucking Lionel Messi. Or more accurately – because that’s really what it was about - being fucked by Lionel Messi.

 

This was- this wasn’t easy for Neymar to come to terms with that. He had admitted he harbored feelings of some kind for Leo, alright. He had also admitted he desired Leo in a sexual manner (he _did_ go down on his knees quite eagerly). It was a bit harder to admit he’d like to be fucked in the ass though.

 

Well, he didn’t exactly _want_ Leo to fuck him in the ass, but on the other hand, he _did_ want Leo to fuck him in the ass. There was no doubt in his mind this was something Leo wanted as well. If the look in his eyes, and the highly surprising (yet strangely arousing) ass-fondling moment was anything to go by, Neymar would say Leo would very much like doing it (doing _him_ ). And since their encounters seemed to grow bolder with time, actual fucking felt like the natural next step.

 

Anyway, Leo was a guy, and since it was clearly demonstrated he wasn’t disgusted by sexing another dude up, putting it in was probably, like, the ultimate achievement (Neymar would know something about that, he was a guy too, and he remembered all to clearly his teenage days and the rush he felt each time he was allowed to go _further_ ).

 

But, fuck, for all his eagerness and curiosity, Neymar was scared alright.

 

Wouldn’t that hurt? Was that even natural? He was pretty sure that wasn’t what an ass was made for. He was anxious, and fearful, yet not enough for the idea not to cross his mind (and then cross it again and again). If people did it, there must be something good about it, right? And even if it only hurt, there was something inherently thrilling in the idea of being fucked by Leo, and if anything – Neymar thought he might get off of Leo getting off.

 

That left Neymar in his current state, torn between disappointment, guilt, impatience and apprehension.

 

Leo always had a perfect timing, and he came in just as Neymar was considering taking The Cold Shower to Kill All Cold Showers so he could focus on something besides _losses_ or, _sexual desire_ , or even better yet – calm down enough to go to sleep.

 

“You okay?” he inquired, quickly sweeping his eyes over Leo’s body to check for any sign of injury.

 

Leo didn’t answer at first, closing the door and grimly going to his bag to put his stuff away.

 

Neymar sent a look at his clothes, disregarded on the floor. Last night, he had been careful to keep shorts on while sleeping, but he had thought that since there was a 100% chance that something would happen tonight, underwear would be good enough. But Leo looked particularly sinister right now, and Neymar had never been that good at calculus anyway. He should probably put his shorts back on. It felt inappropriate to be half-naked now (It had been inappropriate _from the beginning_ , what kind of idiot was he? Two wasn’t a pattern, for fuck’s sake).

 

“Fine. There doesn’t seem to be any injury, and the pain has passed off.”

 

Neymar's head turned so fast he feared it might have caused a whiplash. Leo was standing next to his bag, staring straight at Neymar, looking _lost_.

 

Neymar was at a loss of words, because he thought this time Leo might actually be seeking _comfort_ , as in _friendly comfort_ , and he didn’t know what to do or say to make Leo feel better. But he couldn’t just say _nothing_ , and so he let his head fall back on his pillow, sighing deeply.

 

“You did what you could, you know. It’s not your fault you weren’t feeling good, and it _did_ start so good too…” Neymar mumbled all of that in his pillow, so he was unsure on whether or not Leo had heard (he was shamelessly wishing he hadn’t). “Everybody has bad days anyway”.

 

Several silent seconds passed before there was a deep voice right next to his ear, whispering “I thought you said I wasn’t everybody”.

 

Neymar positively froze. “Wha-?”

 

“After the tie against Malaga, you said I wasn’t a normal guy. Now I’m having bad days just like everyone else?”

 

Neymar felt lost (again); he didn’t have the slightest idea how he should react. That had been quite the sudden change of mood. Was Leo angry? He couldn’t decipher his tone _at all_. Additionally, this was the closer Leo had ever gotten to talking about _it_ – the thing between them. That was the first time he even mentionned _this day_.

 

That caused his heart to skip a beat, and his palms to get sweaty, but he decided to keep on with the conversation – nevermind that Leo _was basically so close he was breathing into his ear_.

 

“You weren’t in top form. It can’t be helped if you’re not feeling fine. Doesn’t stop you from being the best,” Neymar mumbled in his pillow, a bit apprehensive of where Leo was trying to take this.

 

He felt Leo move, and climb onto his back, straddling his hips.

 

What the fuck was even happening?! He had thought Leo was sad, then that he was angry and possibly resentful, but now he was sitting on him?

 

“Are you going to get angry again that I don’t think I’m above everyone else?”

 

There was too much going on, and Neymar didn’t even remotely understand it. Leo's tone was weird; he couldn’t rely on his ears for this one. So he propped his upper body up, supporting himself on his forearms, and turned as much as he could to face Leo.

 

He thought he’d see a grim-faced Leo, or maybe an angry, self-depreciating one; but instead, while there was an obvious bitterness in Leo’s eyes, he was mostly _playful_.

 

Joking. He was joking. Or more accurately, _teasing_ Neymar.

 

Fine, alright, he could do with playful banter.

 

“I wasn’t angry. You’re the one that was frowning so much I feared for the future of your eyebrows.”

 

Leo chuckled at that, smiling (the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but the laugh was low and genuine).

 

“You’re still a bit too involved in advocating my football skills. It’s nice, but I’m not that good. And you have skills too, you know?”

 

Leo was being playful, he knew, but there was still a rush of pride when Leo acknowledged his skills. He didn’t often compliment him, and a part of Neymar was convinced that when he did, it was out of pity, but still.

 

Anyway, he’d rather focus on the hidden – doubtfully sincere – compliment, rather than the bigger picture, because watching Leo now only made him confused (when did watching Leo not confuse him anyway?).

 

His tone was playful, friendly, but he was straddling his hips in a way that was more sexual than friendly. Also, his eyes were at the same time playful and bitter, and most of all, _tender_. That seemed like a weird thing to say, but for once, Neymar could pinpoint the _exact_ feeling showing through Leo’s eyes, and it definitely was tenderness.

 

He would have thought that deciphering a bit of Leo’s eyes would have overjoyed him, but he only felt further puzzlement.

 

All that, and Neymar’s nervousness hidden behind a false bravado, made for quite the inconsistent atmosphere. Were they going to cry, fuck, kiss, or laugh? Neymar didn’t know, and he wasn't sure what he wanted to happen himself (who was he kidding? He had only wanted one thing for the last month, and that wasn’t to share tears with Leo, that was for sure).

 

“I know.” Well, he reckoned he _did_ have some skills. “But I’m still not anywhere near your level”. His voice was admittedly hoarse and shaky, but he had gotten everything out while meeting Leo’s eyes straight on, so he wasn’t willing to take any criticisms.

 

Leo’s eyes softened, the playfulness leaving to make way for a more serious look. “If it wasn’t for you, we would have lost 3-0.” Leo looked both bitter (seemingly, at himself), and tender (seemingly, at Neymar).

 

What was he supposed to answer to that? Clearly, they didn’t share the same opinion about their respective football skills.

 

“Sure. Me, Suarez, and the whole team really. I can’t assist myself. And we lost in the end anyway, there isn’t much difference between 3-1 and 3-0.”

 

There was a flash of hurt in Leo’s eyes and Neymar berated himself, because Leo definitely _didn’t_ need to be reminded that they had lost, he seemed to be thinking about it quite enough as it was, and if he had been able to put that behind him, if only for a moment, what kind of asshole was Neymar to flaunt it in face? If he was right, Leo came to him for comfort, not to be told they played like shit.

 

“Sorry, I mean-”

 

“I know what you mean”, Leo cut him off. “There isn’t any difference between the two, you’re right, because at the end we’re still losing. But if we had lost 3-0, then scoring one goal would have made a difference.”

 

Well, it was probably true. If they had lost 3-0, then they might have wished they had scored, if only one goal, to save face. Neymar remembered the Brazil-Germany match at the World Cup; they’d lost 7-1, and to this day he still wasn’t able to tell whether this sole goal had done anything to save any bit of their perishing dignity.

 

Leo was staring at him, studying his face, probably to watch his words sink in. When he noticed Neymar finally looking back, he attempted a bitter smile, and let his eyes wander down. They stilled soon enough, on his neck, and stayed there. After a while, Leo raised his hand, and brought it to the side of his neck, his fingers brushing against it. He seemed to trace something with his hand, some kind of pattern, and it took Neymar longer than necessary to realize he was in fact tracing the letters of his tattoo with his fingers.

 

“Tudo passa”, Neymar whispered, the engraved words coming back to his mind.

 

Leo’s eyes snapped back to his face, and Neymar felt shaken by the sheer intensity with which they were piercing him. Leo’s hand had stilled on his neck, and he seemed contemplative.

 

Finally, Leo leaned in. Slowly, his eyes closing a little. Neymar had the time to see it coming, and his heartbeat picked up its pace. He closed his eyes, and within no time, there were gentle lips pressed against his.

 

 _God yes_ , that was what he had been waiting for the whole evening (what he had been waiting for the whole _month_ ).

 

It was only a gentle press, a peck on his lips that only lasted a few seconds before Leo moved his head back. Neymar’s eyes opened to find him staring. Then Leo leaned in again, repeating the same action.

 

He did so several times, planting small pecks on his lips, until they transformed into actual kisses. Leo sucked on his lower lip, going as far as to nibble it gently. Then he pressed his full lips back against his and opened his mouth, Neymar’s lips, pressed against his, opening with them. They were close, so very close, and as tender and lulling as those kisses were, it still made him dizzy, shivering under the gentle touches.

 

There was no rush, no tongue, and the kisses didn’t last long enough for Neymar to be out of breath, yet his breathing was far from being regular and controlled. There were so many feelings, emotions, and sensations taking over his mind and body right now; you couldn’t realistically expect him to keep a normal heartbeat.

 

Leo separated from him, inching further away than before, and Neymar was suddenly overcome by tiredness. He let his arms give out under him, his head falling back on his pillow, and he closed his eyes.

 

Leo kissed the left side of his neck – his tattoo – then planted a kiss on his nape. From there, he felt his mouth travel along his spine, kissing it as it went. Leo’s left hand was pressed on the bed, next to his shoulder, supporting his weight, and his right hand had found his waist, caressing his side with gentle fingers. They felt nice, Leo’s fingers, against his skin. They almost tickled, leaving a trail of chills and goose bumps as they passed, making Neymar shiver (the tickly feeling made him shiver, and yet Leo’s fingers were leaving a trail of burning touches behind).

 

Leo kissed down his spine, kissed down until he reached his lower back, and was stopped by the waistband of his underwear. He let his mouth here, lingering on the spot just above his ass, where his spine ended and his behind began, the two being separated by the fabric of his boxers.

 

He felt Leo’s mouth hover above this spot, small puffs of air warming his skin, before Leo finally moved. He inched back, and Neymar felt his hand go from his waist to his hips, his fingertips fluttering against his skin as they made the short travel, then hooked in his boxers’s waistband. Leo moved his legs so that he wasn’t straddling him anymore, and, ever-so-gently, his fingers moved down, taking the helm of his boxers with them.

 

For being a tad too small, they slid easily enough, and Neymar could feel Leo’s fingers trail against his skin as he dragged his boxers down. Before he knew it, Neymar was butt-naked, completely vulnerable, and shivering.

 

That was it, wasn’t it? That was happening, that was real.

 

His heart was hammering in his chest, and never before had Neymar felt so nervous. Leo wasn’t doing anything, had stopped doing anything after he had disposed of his underwear, and Neymar was pretty sure he was watching - he could feel his intense gaze on him, igniting and icing his body at the same time. It was strange, to be under Leo’s watchful eyes. It made him self-conscious, even though he had always been quite confident about his looks, but he found it wasn’t unwelcome – because as far as this went, Leo was watching _him_ and only _him_ in this moment.

 

Leo planted a small kiss on inner thigh, then on his buttock, before setting on doing the travel back to his nape with his mouth, lapping parts of his skin as he went. A hand brushed the skin of his inner thigh – where he could still feel the ghost of Leo’s mouth – and caressed it, the touch always stopping short of his ass.

 

When he had ascended all the way back to his neck, it left Leo hovering above him, inches away from him, so close that his loose shirt was falling on Neymar’s back. Leo was breathing just next to his ear, little puffs of air blowing on his shell, and part of Neymar was convinced he was doing it on purpose, just to elicit the small shivers Neymar had long since given up on repressing. The hand on his inner thigh was slowly inching closer to his buttocks, and soon enough, there was a tentative touch there, fluttering fingers testing Neymar’s resistance on the touch.

 

Resistance? Neymar had none. He couldn’t find it himself to oppose anything Leo did. He was pliant under Leo’s touch, and the thought wasn’t as alarming as he would have thought. Let’s be real : he was even waiting for those touches, for those new sensations, for Leo to explore his body if he so wished. Having his ass touched wasn’t that bad, kind of a _‘meh’_ feeling (Leo’s fingers were warm on his skin, and it sent shivers down his spine, shivers down his _dick_ , so, _meh_.)

 

Leo brought his hand up, and let himself crash on Neymar’s back. Given the actual distance between their bodies, it wasn’t much of a crash, but it might have well as been for the effect it had on Neymar. He felt Leo’s strong torso against his back, Leo’s shirt being the only barrier between them, and it suddenly became the most frustrating piece of cloth _ever_. Neymar would have turned around, gotten rid of the annoying cloth, and let his hands wander all over Leo’s body, but he found he couldn’t. His hands had reverted back to being useless members, clutching his pillow as if it was a lifesaver. How useless was that? Leo was way too close, and Neymar was already drowning in his scent.

 

Not to forget Leo’s crotch pressed against his ass, and if there was any doubts left in Neymar’s mind that Leo wanted to fuck him, well, there they went. The erection pressed against his ass seemed very real, and very interested, if the small grinds were any indication.

 

Leo was so close. He could feel his hard-on with acute precision despite the fabric of his shorts, could tell where was the head and where was the shaft. It should have maybe panicked him, to have a man rub against his ass (and it _did_ ), but Neymar was mostly overcome by _lust_ and _desire_. Was it even normal, to want something so much, when you didn’t even know what it felt like, and when you _knew_ it was going to hurt?

 

Neymar listened to Leo’s breathing (he was basically breathing in his ear anyway), catching every hitches and pants, every gulps and exhalations. Leo’s right hand had anchored itself on his hips, and his grip there was becoming incredibly tight. Neymar knew, he just _knew_ what was coming.

 

“Neymar,” Leo whispered, an almost pleading tone to his husky voice, “ _Ney_ , is this okay?”

 

The accompanying grinds made it hard to misunderstand anyway.

 

Was this okay? It was scary. Scary as fuck. It made him nervous, made his whole body tense, because- because that was much more than touching or sucking, it was more intimate. There was no going back; there could be no pretense of it being only two dudes experimenting or seeking comfort. That was something Neymar could only give up _once_ ; it was the first and the last time he’ll ever take the decision to give himself for the first time, because afterwards, no matter what happened, it would have already been done once. It was the _line_ , and Neymar had to decide whether he wanted to cross it or not.

 

He thought about what people would think of such things. He wondered if it hurt, and fuck that, _how much_ it hurt. He wondered if it felt good, if the fact that it was _Leo_ would make it as arousing as sucking his dick had been. He wondered about going to the toilets afterwards, thought about pleasing Leo, thought about giving himself to him. He thought about being special, because Leo probably hadn’t asked many guys to let him fuck them in his life; and anyway, if there were people to let themselves be fucked, there was bound to be something _good_ about it; and also, it was _Leo_ , in the most intimate, complete way possible, it was—

 

Neymar nodded, his face buried in his pillow.

 

Leo hands un-tightened some, but his body was still tense, uncertain. “Neymar,” he repeated, and it occurred to him that Leo was actually waiting for an answer, a _spoken_ answer. _He_ never said anything, and only came to him silently with no explanation _whatsoever_ , but he was actually waiting for _Neymar_ to admit out loud that _he wanted Leo to fuck him_?

 

“Yes, yes, alright,” Neymar chanted, answering despite it (how could he not answer anyway?). “Ok.”

 

He felt Leo's entire body relax, and then Leo mouthed at Neymar’s neck, and sucked on it, most likely leaving yet another hickey he wouldn’t know how to hide (and couldn’t bring himself to hide). He was grinding against his ass more openly now, and Neymar was suddenly overcome by the fact that Leo wanted to fuck him, wanted _him_ , was horny because of _him_ , and uh-

 

That was probably the closest it could get to having his crush reciprocated. At any rate, Neymar was hard as rock.

 

Leo sat up, separating their bodies, and climbed down the bed. Neymar rose on his elbows and watched Leo go to his bag, using the opportunity to rearrange his messy hair. Leo took a small bottle out (lube, definitely lube), and turned back towards the bed. Neymar didn’t even try to be discreet as he watched Leo take off his shirt and his shorts, unabashedly ogling.

 

He was 100% positive that Leo took his time walking back to the bed to allow Neymar time to watch, and _that_ should have embarrassed him, but he was about to take a dick up his ass, so really, Neymar thought he had all the rights.

 

Then Leo climbed back on the bed, and straddled him again, pressing his dick against his ass. There was only a thin fabric separating them now; Neymar could feel Leo’s dick better than ever. As frustrating as the layer was, it was also a relief, because he didn’t know how he would have reacted to direct contact between Leo’s prick and his buttocks (most likely, he would have frozen but taken it in strides; it’s not like he had displayed unbelievable defiance up until now).

 

“You bring lube with you on matches?” he inquired, looking at Leo questioningly. Nervous or not, that wasn’t something he could just ignore.

 

“No, I-,” Leo stopped himself, and then resumed, “I thought it might happen”.

 

“You thought we were going to lose?”, because, there was a pattern, wasn’t there? Seeking sex when they lost.

 

Leo frowned, and said “No”. But he left it at that.

 

The nerve of the guy, needing him to expressly agree to being fucked, while not even bothering to elaborate on such a simple question as : why did you bring a bottle of lube if you didn’t think we were going to lose seeing as you seem to grow a sudden libido only when we don’t win?

 

(There might be an answer to this, that didn’t need saying, but Neymar wasn’t going there. Some things needed to be said, because assuming them was too much of a train wreck)

 

Leo poured lube over three of his fingers; poured too much lube on his fingers, some of it dripping on his lower back (gross). Neymar watched, a bit mesmerized, as Leo approached his fingers, and pressed just one against his entrance. It felt cold and slippery, but the most important thing was it _felt_ like something. Neymar couldn’t say he had often felt something poking at his asshole; that wasn’t exactly how things usually went.

 

Leo’s attention was divided between his own fingers and Neymar himself as he pushed the tip of his index in. There wasn’t much to say about it, except for the part that he’d never had anything in his ass, and that felt weird.

 

Leo pushed his finger in, his entire finger in, and _that_ was definitely new. It was… uncomfortable, unusual, unpleasant, _unreal_ , but not painful, which was a relief. It didn’t feel natural - this wasn’t the natural order of thing, was it? It was _something_ ; he felt _something_ , where he shouldn’t feel anything, where he had _never_ felt anything.

 

He could feel Leo’s fingers with a part of himself with which he never felt anything before, and it was honestly weird.

 

Weirder still was watching it happen. He could, at the same time, feel and see the finger move inside him. He felt both like a detached observer, and an involved participant, and that was way too strange to watch and _know_ it was happening to _him_.

 

So he dropped back on the bed, burying his face in the pillow and clenching his fists into its fabric. The new feeling was already enough; maintaining control on his five senses seemed too hard. Sight was overrated anyway.

 

“Hey, Neymar”, a hand went to his hair, brushing and toying with a few strands, “don’t hide your face.”

 

He didn’t really know what seeing his face would change, but Leo had asked, so with a long suffering sigh, he turned his head to the side, closing his eyes because, again, sight wasn’t _that_ important, was it?

 

What was important on the other hand, was touch. It was the sensations he got out of Leo’s finger inside him, and _that_ was what he needed to focus on. That was the only time he would experience those feelings for the first time, and maybe that sounded cheesy (it definitely was cheesy), but it felt _important_.

 

As he complied with Leo’s demand, Leo set about fingering him. He moved his finger gently inside, in and out. The movements had the advantage of letting Neymar get used to the sensation, although it still felt unreal. It was uncomfortable, and how couldn’t it be? There was also a hand spreading his asscheeks apart, and Neymar seemed to have developed the ability to feel Leo’s eyes on him, because he could tell with acute certainty that Leo was staring at his ass as he fingered him. The thing was, _nobody_ had ever looked at his asshole before. Like, _Neymar_ _himself_ had never looked at his asshole before, and he did look at himself a lot.

 

As uneasy as it was, Neymar realized he didn’t care that much – at least not as much as he thought he would – because despite the unpleasantness of it all, despite the fact that everything seemed unreal; it was also _new_. It being unreal and unnatural was both a discomfort and a gift. He had never before felt something even remotely close to what he was feeling right now. That was a whole new sexual experience, and Neymar was eager, eager as fuck, eager enough that his dick, far from deflating, was getting harder.

 

Moreover, Leo’s hard-on was pressed against his thigh, and he had difficulties picturing a situation where that wouldn’t be enough to arouse him.

 

After some intense one-finger fucking, Leo took most of his finger out, and let it be joined by a second one. Neymar felt the tip of this second finger poke at this entrance then slide in, alongside the first finger, as both pushed back in again. Rather logically, if one finger meant discomfort, two fingers meant more discomfort. Well, since Neymar had grown accustomed to the first one, he had hoped the introduction of a second finger wouldn’t have much of an impact. How naive of him.

 

It was in fact bigger. Where the first finger slid in easily enough, the second finger actually _stretched_ him. It still went in easily enough though – what with the unnatural amount of lube Leo had used – but Neymar still felt the difference.

 

“Is this okay?”

 

His eyes snapped open when he heard Leo’s deep and gentle voice. He looked at him over his shoulders, confused.

 

“You’re frowning”, was the answer to his silent query, as Leo raised his free hand to smooth his frown lines.

 

“Uh, no, yes, it’s fine.” And it really was. “Go on”.

 

Really, at this point, no matter the sensation, the only thing Neymar was sure of was that he wanted it to _go on_. He wanted to see it to its end. All of those new sensations were strange – _obviously_ they were strange – and it was uncomfortable, but he still wanted more. He wanted to feel _more_ ; he wanted to feel _everything_. This second finger? He’ll get used to it, like he got used to the first one.

 

He hoped this came across in the answer he gave Leo. Leo was quite confidential on his feelings, but Neymar couldn’t say he aced the communication part of sexual intercourses either.

 

Leo let his hand fall to Neymar’s side, brushing his fingers against it gently, comfortingly. That prompted Neymar into doing something with his hands, instead of uselessly clutching on his pillow like that. Truth be told, he didn’t do much, apart from bringing one hand down, and hooking it as much as he could on Leo’s strong thigh. He brushed his own finger against the skin, feeling the thin hairs here.

 

The fingers inside him were moving quite fast now, scissoring him, and somehow trying to push in all possible directions – which was a bit preposterous, because as far as Neymar was concerned, there were only two directions you could go for, and that was in, or out.

 

When Leo made a particularly rough movement, Neymar pulled on the hairs on his thigh. Leo didn’t protest (although Neymar cringed on his behalf), but he immediately slowed down, taking care not to do it again. Thus, Neymar took to pulling on Leo’s hairs when he did something particularly unpleasing. It became an operational system to express his feelings. Saying things out loud might have been even more effective, but again, Neymar wasn’t gifted in the art of expressing his feelings, so. Better silent communication than no communication at all.

 

As predicted, Neymar was getting used to the feel of two fingers inside of him. Still uncomfortable, still unpleasant; but Neymar was getting used to that to. On the other hand, he wasn’t getting over the sheer _novelty_ of it all - which was a good thing, because novelty was what spurred him to want more. He didn’t need to check to know he was still hard as fuck.

 

How could he not be hard? He thought it was probably an automatic mechanism anyway, to be excited when someone you liked touched you with sexual intent. How could you not enjoy being the focus of attention of the person you liked? How could you not enjoy being touched like that? It felt so _sexual_. And sex was arousing.

 

Neymar couldn’t _not_ focus on what Leo was doing, feeling every movement of his fingers with acute clarity. Which is why, when said fingers pushed at a totally random angle, and something sort of _blossomed_ into Neymar, he was taken by surprise. That had been unexpected. Unexpected enough that he let out an involuntary moan, and snapped his eyes open (which didn’t help at all; he’d kept them closed too long, and was temporarily blinded by the dim-light of the room). All the more unexpected for the fact that this blossoming thing had strangely felt like _pleasure_.

 

It happened again, several times, until Neymar was 100% certain Leo was doing it on purpose. The only thing he wasn’t certain of was _what_ exactly he was doing. His mind was clear enough that he could feel that the blossoming sensation seemed to originate from a spot, somewhere inside, that Leo’s fingers hit as they pushed in. They were stimulating this spot, and it led to pleasure. Not the pleasure Neymar was used to feeling – when he jerked himself off or had sex with a girl - something completely different but that was still undeniably enjoyable.

 

Neymar had had a fairly good control of his breathing up until now (at least, it wasn’t _that much_ faster than normal), but it quickened pretty fast now, and he clenched his hands around Leo’s thigh, not meaning to pull his hairs this time, but probably doing so in the process.

 

Neymar repressed all the different sounds that were trying to leave his throat, reacting involuntarily to the sensation he was feeling. For some reason, this goddamn thing inside him seemed directly linked to his dick. It sent waves of pleasure thorough him, and seemed to stimulate his cock directly, making him harder (as if he _needed_ to get harder). There was still the overall weirdness, the unreal sensation of having something inside him, but on top of all of that, there were now sudden sparks of ‘ _good’_ and ‘ _nice’_ and ‘ _pleasant’_ and _‘hell yes’_.

 

“What the hell is that?” he inquired, because clearly, Leo seemed to know what was up.

 

“Your prostate, I think.”

 

Yes, right, so unsurprisingly, Leo was being very helpful once again. Was he supposed to know how his prostate led to him shuddering of pleasure?

 

Neymar would have complained, but Leo decided now was a good time to introduce a third finger, and Neymar suspected he was actually trying to avoid giving a more elaborated answer. Well, at least Neymar knew it wasn’t something completely unnatural, if Leo had an explanation for it.

 

Once again, Leo started by introducing only the tip, and then let his three fingers slide in together. It was strange how a single finger could make a difference. Up until now, it had mostly been uncomfortable or unpleasant (and really, for the last minute or so, the discovery of his prostate had made it more pleasant than anything), but now it was mostly painful. Not so much that he’d beg and cry, but… There was only a thin line between something being uncomfortable and something being painful. There was always a point where something got _so_ uncomfortable that it became painful, and this point had been reached.

 

His displeasure must have shown on his face (he could feel himself frowning), because Leo’s hand began rubbing soothing circles on his lower back. He also aimed at the same spot as before – at this prophetic prostate thingy. It still worked apparently, but only enough to tie Neymar’s feelings between _‘I want seconds’_ and _‘I’ve known better’._ The pleasure wasn’t really enough to make him forget how unpleasant it all was, but it was enough to make him bear it.

 

Leo did try though; being careful to go slowly and to always innervate this mysterious prostate spot, and it was nice, that Leo was considerate and _trying_. Nothing short of a nuclear war would make Neymar want to stop anyway. The simple fact that he wanted it was enough to make up for any discomforts on the way.

 

The pain was already fading away, reverting back to being only a discomfort. It made things easier, because discomfort and unpleasantness was what he’d been dealing with from the start, and those had quickly paled in comparison to the blossoming sensation his prostate induced.

 

Neymar quickly discovered that – once he got over the fact that three fingers took more place – the fact that it was bigger was actually a nice thing; a very nice thing indeed (at least nice enough that he was fighting down moans again).

 

It was – filling. It was stretching him even more, and it allowed for greater penetration. Neymar didn’t really know, but the way the fingers were fucking him, the fact that they were rubbing _inside_ , and filling him, the fact that he was feeling new things through his _ass_ ; all of if made the experience pleasurable. There was something inherently sexual and sensual in being fingered, and everything screamed _arousal_ and _pleasure_.

 

So all in all, this background unpleasantness wasn’t really much, and if anything, Neymar had gotten so used to the unnaturalness of it that it became part of the _‘feels nice’_ deal. He relaxed quite fast in the end, and Leo took more liberty with his fingers, quickening his pace. It got to the point where, with each thrusts, Neymar began anticipating.

 

Leo had tightened a hand on his hips, almost bruisingly, and his movements were becoming messier. He was painfully hard, and while up until now, he had behaved himself, seemingly content to just press his hard-on on his thigh, Neymar could now feel the tension seeping out of his body, could feel it in the contracted muscles of his legs, could feel him trying not to grind down on his thigh, trying not to hump against it (and didn’t Neymar love that concept).

 

Neymar’s own hard-on was becoming painful. It felt like they had been at it for hours, and he needed to take care of his dick at some point. The bed sheets felt raw and dry against the sensitive skin of his cock, so much so that Neymar feared he might flay himself on them.

 

He _knew_ what was coming next, he _wanted_ what was coming next. God only knew why, but he wanted Leo’s dick, he wanted Leo to fuck him. He wanted those unpleasant feelings, he wanted those waves of pleasure; he wanted it all.

 

Yet, Leo wasn’t doing anything; he contented himself with fingering him and repressing his grinds, adding to Neymar’s frustration.

 

Was he supposed to give the greenlight himself? Was Leo expecting him to say he was ready? Because he didn’t _know_ if he was. How do you even know you’re ready to be fucked? He might feel ready and not be ready at all.

 

Well, nevermind that, he was too hard not to be ready.

 

He still didn’t know if Leo deliberately took it slowly, but he took it upon himself to send a message. He raised his calf so he could kick Leo’s back with his back heel, without any force. It seemed to get the message across, because just a few seconds later, the fingers stilled inside him. There was an eerie moment of silence, then he heard Leo take a shaky breath in, and his fingers slowly withdrew from inside him.

 

Leo reached across the bed to take the lube bottle, raising himself on his knees to do so, leaving Neymar naked thigh to the chilly air’s mercy. There was the sound of the cap being opened, and Neymar resisted the urge to turn around and watch, as he heard Leo fumble with his underwear to let his dick out.

 

He wasn’t really interested in watching himself be fucked. It had been a weird enough experience watching himself be fingered; he wasn’t keen on repeating the same thing again so soon. The only thing he wanted was to hide his face in the pillow, bury it there until it disappeared. Actually, this is exactly what he did, turning his head in the pillow so as to completely hide his face. It was great, but it had the unfortunate disadvantage of providing him with less air, dear in those times of need where his breathing was irregular and his heartbeat crazy.

 

He heard the sound of Leo’s slicking his shaft with lube, and Neymar tried not to think about Leo’s dick too much (on the other, was there ever a better moment than this one to think about Leo’s cock? In in a few seconds it was going to be inside him, and he was going to feel it like he’d never felt anything before).

 

Leo seemed to have once again used too much lube, cold drops falling on his burning skin. Then, Leo put one hand on the side of Neymar’s body to hold himself up, and stretched out, until his whole body was hovering above him. The hand Leo was leaning on was conveniently next to his shoulder, and so Neymar took hold of Leo’ wrist, grabbing it to anchor himself.

 

Leo’s was close, so very close. So close that Neymar felt his breathing, moist and jerky on his neck; and felt the head of his dick, slick with lube, against his lower back. He felt said head go to his ass, Leo letting it slide against him as he got it near his entrance. He pressed the head just against it, without pushing in; giving Neymar the time to brace himself for what was coming next. Neymar took this moment to try and actually conceptualize the fact that there was a cock poking his ass right now, and that for all intents and purposes, this cock was Leo’s, but it wasn’t very conclusive.

 

Fuck, it was going to hurt, it was _bound_ to hurt, Leo’s third fingers had hurt, there was no way _this_ was going to be painless.

 

Leo took a deep, shaky breath, and pushed in. Neymar whimpered.

 

The good thing was, Neymar had been right, it did hurt, and he generally liked being right. The bad thing was, it really _did_ hurt. From the moment Leo entered – the first few inches of his dick, only the head of it – Neymar could already tell it was going to be more difficult to get used to that, and then Leo had pushed more of his dick in.

 

Leo stopped and Neymar knew he hadn’t put everything in, maybe barely half of it, and he honestly didn’t care because it hurt. It _hurt_.

 

It wasn’t—It wasn’t like when the third finger entered, when it became too uncomfortable not to be painful. No, it was straight up painful. It was raw, it was too big, it took all the space, took _more_ space that there even was. And yet, Leo had stretched him, had put so much lube that Neymar could _feel_ it, but that was hardly enough.

 

His hand had tightened so hard on Leo’s wrist he was pretty sure it was leaving a bruise. Chances were Leo had stopped his movement because of that too. Well, it was as good a means as any to communicate right?

 

“Neymar…” Leo’s voice was soft, trying to soothe him; and he appreciated the effort, he really did. “Neymar, breathe.”

 

Neymar indeed found that his breath had hitched when Leo first pushed in, and he had failed to breathe out ever since. He tried to resume breathing with deep and ragged breaths, not fully succeeding , and his breathing stopped several time again (it reminded him of the time he sobbed when he was a child, when his breath just wouldn’t come out normally and kept hitching and stopping as he was trying to just breathe out).

 

Leo didn’t move for a while. He had dropped to his elbows but Neymar hadn't let go of his wrist. His other hand slid under Neymar’s shoulder and hooked there, holding him (which was strangely reassuring, even though Neymar wasn’t aware he even needed to be reassured). Leo’s arms were shaking a bit, and he didn’t know whether it was because of holding himself up for too long had put a strain on his muscles, or if it was because he was repressing the urge to fuck into him.

 

He began going out slowly then, and- and Neymar wasn’t okay with that either. It hurt ( _god_ it hurt), but he hadn’t said he wanted to stop, had he? It was too soon, he hadn’t even _tried_ ; he had the right to feel pain, what’s with the rush, seriously, he-

 

His hand had marginally relaxed around Leo’s wrist, but he tightened it back, tugging a bit too, to make him understand that he shouldn’t stop, he’ll be fine, and fuck, because even if he never got used to it and it hurt the whole time, Neymar was so _desperate_ he was willing to take it. Who knew, he might even learn to enjoy pain. Becoming a masochist, wouldn’t that be useful? (except Neymar hated pain, he really did)

 

Leo was still backing away though, and Neymar wondered if it was maybe possible for him to fake being fine so he wouldn’t stop (Yeah right. He had no control on his breathing whatsoever, and his eyes were prickling so much that he knew if he opened them he’d let tears fall). Unexpectedly, he stopped before his dick was fully out, leaving only inches of it in. A beat, and then he pushed back in, slowly and carefully.

 

It hurt damn it, it still hurt, but Neymar got the point. Getting used to the feeling right? He was willing to try.

 

Leo did that several times, going in and out, only did that for a while, and Neymar bore with it. He focused on breathing, and on controlling his body’s reactions. He was tense – so damn tense, his whole body trying to hunch over on himself. He knew he was clenching around Leo’s dick in his tenseness, and he knew enough to understand it wasn’t helping things, at all, so he tried to concentrate on relaxing.

 

He listened to Leo breathe against his nape. He focused on Leo’s hand, the one hooked around his shoulder, who was drawing soothing circles on his collarbone. Leo had also pressed his mouth against his nape, even more effectively breathing against him (breathing _him_ ), and pressing occasional kisses on his neck. He tried thinking about what was happening. Not about it hurting, but about it _being_. About it being the final part, the final step; because he could try as much as he wanted, he could never go any further with Leo. That, painful or painless- that was the most intimate he would ever be with him.

 

Everything was Leo in this moment, and without really realizing it, he began relaxing. He released Leo’s wrist, and clasped his hand on his forearm instead. The muscles in his body – all tense and contracted – relaxed too, including the one in his ass, letting Leo’s lubed dick slide in and out more easily. He couldn’t really say his breathing was back to normal, yet again it hadn’t been normal from the moment Leo had stepped into the room.

 

It wasn’t until he felt Leo’s pelvis against his ass that he realized he had been steadily pushing more of his dick in with each thrust. The thought that Leo was fully inside him made him shiver, and he turned his head to the side, allowing fresh air to rush in ( _why hadn’t he done that from the start?_ ). He planted a kiss on Leo’s abused wrist, and let his mouth inches away from it, so his warm breath could soothe the pain.

 

That seemed to prompt Leo into thinking things were fine – or at least better – because he stopped hovering behind him and let his body weight press down against Neymar’s back. Neymar could now feel Leo’s torso – chest and abs and everything – against his bare back, feel the warmth and the hardness of it, and that was nice.

 

Neymar couldn’t say he was really used to being penetrated yet. He had relaxed, so he felt better about the pain, but it was still here. Good thing was, he didn’t feel more pain with Leo’s whole dick inside than he did when there was only half of it in; he was in fact feeling less pain than initially, so that definitely meant he had accustomed to it at some point.

 

Truth be told, Neymar tended to sometimes overreact to pain (but who even liked being hurt?), and he tried to tell himself it probably didn’t hurt as much as he thought, if it was already less painful that at the beginning.

 

Leo had stopped moving after he had been able to fit his whole dick in. He was slouched against Neymar’s back, his forehead against the nape of his neck, just breathing. Chances were, he was trying to calm himself down. Neymar imagined penetrating a girl, having to take minutes to be fully in, and not being able to fuck into her when he finally was. It would definitely put a strain on his self-restraint.

 

On the other hand, the fact that Leo wanted him enough to feel the need to take a moment to calm down, combined with the fact that he was effectively restraining himself not to hurt him further made his stomach flutter; although, he would probably get quite mad if Leo didn’t stop himself from fucking him senseless (who was he kidding? He was ready to take on any pain moments ago just so Leo wouldn’t stop; he wouldn’t get mad, at worst he would whimper in displeasure).

 

Neymar risked himself at actually focusing on what was happening inside his ass, on the feeling he got from there and which he had been trying to steadily ignore for the past few minutes.

 

The thing was, he didn’t feel much of anything yet. He could just tell that there was something inside, that felt way bigger than it probably was, and that seemed to take more space than available. As for the rest, his ass felt mostly numb.

 

After some time, Leo seemed to have calmed himself down enough, for he hooked his second hand around his other shoulder, to keep him in place, and resumed moving.

 

It was slow. Really slow, and he never got his dick fully out, probably didn’t even take half of it out. He was mostly rolling his hips in small circles, and that allowed for Neymar to get used to the sensation of being fucked. Because he _did_ get used to it. The overall numbness went away, and he actually began to feel Leo’s dick inside him. He felt it moving, felt it rub against his inner walls, felt it rub _inside_ of him; felt it seemingly back away, only to go back in, never taking out more than a few inches. Neymar realized after a time that it was hot. Really fucking _hot_.

 

The thing was, once he got over the pain, he was faced with the fact that Leo’s dick was big enough that it took all the place; so much so that it was derisively easy for it to hit the spot inside of him that sent chills to his dick. Upon being entered, Neymar had deflated quite fast, almost losing any semblance of a hard-on, but with those steady hits against his prostate, his dick went back to full form in no time.

 

Before he had the time to even realize it, it felt _good_. Like, really good.

 

The movements inside him, those in-out movements, those slow but deep thrusts, the fact that Leo’s dick was taking all the place, was filling him, innervating his prostate almost constantly; all of that was sensual. It was sexual. It was hot, _intimate_ and arousing. It wasn’t like jerking off, wasn’t that straight to the point; it was different, but it felt good too. Not really enough, but good.

 

Not enough, because Neymar doubted it would suffice to make him come. There was still, buzzing in the background, a deep-seated discomfort, that Leo’s thrusts couldn’t overcome. Well, at least, that’s what Neymar had thought, until Leo’s hand sneaked in and under his body.

 

That- That was a whole new experience, alright.

 

All things considered, since stimulating his prostate had a direct effect on his cock, he probably should have thought of that sooner. Leo’s hand had closed firmly around his dick and Neymar had let out a really embarrassing moan when he did so. So naturally, Leo began jerking him off, imposing the same pace on his dick as the one of his hips, and to avoid further embarrassment, Neymar turned his head back into the pillow to muffle his voice, deciding that suffocating wasn’t _that_ deadly.

 

The hand hooked around his shoulder reached for his cheek, without slipping out from under him, and Leo tried to nudge his head to the side again, but Neymar didn’t budge.

 

He got that was watching his face was a good indicator of his feelings, but it was fine now, he’d already moaned like a whore, there was need to keep an eye on his facial expressions anymore.

 

With the discovery of the wonderful equation of ‘handjob + prostate = pleasure’ (had someone claimed credit for it yet?), Neymar’s breath went back to hitching, but for entirely new reasons (and for the best reasons there was, really). His breath sometimes stopped for a second, unwilling to go out. Each time, when he finally got around breathing out, he would let out a small, embarrassing whine that he had the hardest time repressing. Neymar was trying to suppress any semblance of a moan, whine, or breathy whimper, because moaning shamelessly once had been enough, really.

 

His determination to suppress his voice also steamed from the fact that every time he failed to do so, he’d feel Leo smirk against his shoulder, and that was deeply infuriating (and fucking _hot_ ).

 

Leo began going faster. The pace of his thrusts, excruciatingly slow at the start, picked up speed, but it still wasn’t anywhere near the rabid love-making you could see in porns. Leo’s thrusts weren’t so much about speed as they were about depth. His movements were actually small, he never withdrew totally, actually almost didn’t withdrew at all, mostly trying to fuck in harder and deeper, to go as far as he could, flattening his pelvis against his ass and thrusting in. It felt as if he wasn’t satisfied with being fully inside of him yet and needed more, needed to go further, and it made for an intense pace. It was without question the best thing Neymar had ever experienced.

 

Why hadn't Leo put a hand on his dick from the start? It would have made things _so much_ easier. It would have brought him faster to this point; the point where Neymar was completely overwhelmed.

 

Overwhelmed because of- because of everything. Overwhelmed because it was Leo. It was _Leo_ , Leo’s torso against his own, Leo’s mouth against his shoulder blade, Leo’s ragged breathing and low moans, Leo’s hand, steady and firm around his dick, Leo’s hand around his shoulder, holding him there, securing him there so he wouldn’t move, so he could fuck into him better. It was- it was Leo’s dick, inside him, _fully_ inside him, taking all the place, filling him, hitting his prostate and making him feel good, making him feel _bliss_. It was Leo taking, taking everything he had to give, and Neymar was willing to give it all, to give anything, as long as it pleased Leo.

 

Because he wanted to do that, wanted to _please_ Leo, and he _was_ pleasing him, and that felt like an achievement, an achievement worthy of being put on a resume. It felt complete, complete like nothing could ever be. He didn’t feel like they were one or anything like that; he didn’t, and thank god for that. He didn’t want to merge with Leo, he _wanted_ Leo, and he wanted Leo to want him. It was as intimate as it could get, and they were taking pleasure from each other, and getting pleasure together, and that was ten times better than anything else. That meant the world right now, so much so that it made Neymar want to cry.

 

And cried, he did; not because it was painful (although it was, there was always this discomfort, buzzing in the background, increasing with Leo’s pace), not because it was good (although it _was_ , because when Leo’s pace increased, so did the pleasure, and all the pain and the discomfort in the world were nothing in the face of such fulfillment). He cried because it was like having something you weren’t supposed to have, ever, something you never thought you’d experience, and Neymar was just so _glad_. So fucking glad.

 

Leo was having a hard time suppressing his own moans; low, breathy sounds that were almost sighs. He muffled them against Neymar’s skin, nibbling and sucking.

 

It was getting faster. Fast enough that Neymar could now hear the sound of Leo’s balls, smashing against his ass. It was also getting harder and more intense, Leo still seemingly trying to go in deeper - even though it was impossible, seeing as he was already balls-deep in; and with each passing thrusts, Neymar grew the conviction that they were getting close.

 

Damn, were they close. Leo was quickening the pace of his hand as he was quickening the one of his hips, and Neymar hated the fact that he was so close, that getting prepared and accustomed to it had taken _so long_ , and when the time came, and when he was in the middle of such an amazing experience, it was to be so _short_.

 

_Damn it, damn it, damn it._

 

It was a bit harder to control his voice now, but the pillow successfully muffled most of the embarrassing moans he produced; which was only fair, considering Leo was biting his shoulder from time to time to keep his own voice under control. Leo’s thrusts quickened on a sudden, quickened more than ever, and Neymar knew it was the end, that those were the final thrusts, made only to last a moment. This new pace was short-lived, lasting only a few seconds, and then Neymar came, and then Leo, but the _climax_ ; the climax lasted longer than Neymar’s whole fucking life.

 

It couldn’t get any better than this. It was the climax after all; the climax of everything, and when he came down from it, all that was left for him was disorientation, dizziness and a ragged breathing merged with breathy moans. He had turned his head over in the heat of the moment, which had been a good instinct on his part because seeing how oxygen was hard to come by right now, he might have suffocated if he’d kept his head buried in the pillow.

 

There was Leo, slouched against his back, his hands trapped under the weight of both their bodies. He was panting, trying to regain his breath. There was a dull pain in Neymar’s shoulder, and he realized Leo had _bitten_ him when he came, hard enough to draw blood (Was it bad that he thought of blaming it on Suarez if he was asked about it afterwards?).

 

None of them said anything, both focusing on breathing (and wasn’t that a good idea).

 

Finally, as they both seemed to reach a normal level of afterglow, Leo slid out; or to be precise, let himself fall on his side next to Neymar, his dick effectively slipping out.

 

“You came inside”, he protested, in between shaky breaths.

 

“Sorry”, Leo said, with a strangely not-that-apologetic tone, “I forgot to bring condoms”

 

Neymar turned his head the other way, so he could look at Leo’s directly. “You thought about bringing lube though”.

 

Leo didn’t answer, only gave him that sheepish smile, the one that showed he wasn’t really sorry about it; the one that said “I’m sorry, I didn’t plan for it to happen, but I’m glad it happened”. The one that showed Leo clearly had other priorities than not-cumming inside Neymar.

 

Neymar thought that there might be a mistake on the person, because all things seemed to indicate that Leo was kinkier than originally thought (although to be fair, he originally never associated Leo with sex). On the other hand, Neymar hoped there wasn’t any mistake, because that was a side of Leo he could get used to. (And he’ll never admit it out lout, but while the fluids seeping out from his felt gross, knowing there was Leo’s semen in it was strangely satisfying).

 

Leo got up, going to the bathroom, and brought back a towel. He came back to the bed, and Neymar jumped a little when he started cleaning his ass with the cloth. That was unexpected, although welcomed.

 

“Turn over”, Leo asked, nudging his side.

 

Neymar ground his toes in the bed sheet and clenched his hands in his pillow, burying once again his head in it as he let out a petulant “Why”, which, if he was honest with himself (which he wasn’t), sounded an awful lot like a whine.

 

“You have cum on your torso. Come on, turn over”, Leo added, as he took note of Neymar unwillingness to do anything that was remotely close to moving.

 

In the end, strength won over stubbornness, Neymar’s tired body not being much help in this fight. Neymar grimaced a little as he laid on his back. It was hard to ignore the numbness and soreness of his ass now. Still, not one to waste an opportunity, he blindly reached for his hair and tried to arrange them a bit, before giving up and letting his arms drop on both sides of his head.

 

Leo wiped off the semen on his torso, taking longer than necessary to do so (Neymar hadn't come _that much_ ). He opened his eyes (had he even closed them? Was he that tired?), and found Leo staring straight at him. Turning his head to the side or closing his eyes again would have been too awkward, so he decided to return the stare.

 

Leo leaned down slowly, without closing his eyes, and kissed him gently, sucking on his lips. It was a short kiss, and too soon Leo moved back, far enough that they weren’t breathing the same air, but close enough that Leo’s face was still shading his.

 

“You’re pretty”, Leo said, almost whispered, while staring intently at him, and before Neymar had a chance to either protest or flush in embarrassment, Leo went for another kiss, throwing the towel away as he did do.

 

He flopped on his side as he kissed him, and Neymar followed, gladly lying on his side as well. At any rate, while being called “handsome” would have been preferred, better pretty than ugly, even more so when Leo was the one saying it with such a serious look on his face.

 

This kiss either didn’t last long, both too tired, really. Neymar thought it would be easy to fall asleep right now, next to Leo like that, but…

 

He opened his eyes and resolved to talk. “Is this… going to be a thing? Having sex after losses.”

 

There was a flash in Leo’s eyes, something akin to remembrance, Leo having most likely remembered today had been a match day, and quite a bad one at that. Neymar felt like a tactless asshole for even asking, but he needed to talk things out, and it was now or never.

 

He didn’t want to last another month like that, anxious and unsure and nervous and _yearning_.

 

“Do you want it to be a thing?” Yeah nice, answering a question with another question. Neymar had come to the conclusion that answering him straightforwardly, actually _expressing_ his feelings out loud might kill Leo. That was the only viable reason.

 

“No- Yes. It’s just… I don’t want to associate losses with good thing. I don’t want to be looking forward to something when we lose, because… I mean, I just don’t” There, that was the best he could do.

 

Leo took his time to answer, studying his face thoughtfully. “You’re right. Better to stop and not make it a thing”

 

Period. He didn’t say anything else after, and busied himself with getting the sheet out from under them and above them, to cover their bodies, and whoa, _okay_ , that had been counterproductive as fuck. He could _totally_ learn to dissociate losses and sex if needed, even if sex were to only happen after losses; no need to be so _drastic_ , that wasn’t what he was aiming for _at all_.

 

When Leo was done covering their bodies with the bed sheet, he snuggled closer, putting an arm around Neymar’s waist. He brought his head really close to Neymar’s, so close that their noses were almost touching, and he looked him straight in the eyes.

 

“Don’t freak out,” there was something akin to amusement in Leo’s voice, and a spark of mischief in his eyes, which Neymar hadn’t expected at all, “I only said you were right; we shouldn’t have sex after losses. I was told victory sex is the best sex there is anyway.”

 

It took time for Neymar to realize that Leo was _teasing_ him, and it took even more time for him to realize the implications of what Leo had actually said.

 

By contrast, once he _did_ understand those implications, it took close to no time for a smile to form on his face; a wide, toothy smile that he wouldn’t be able to repress if he tried – and he wasn’t trying.

 

Leo smiled back at him, a smile as happy as his own, and closed the few inches that separated them, letting their nose bumps and resting his forehead against his.

 

Neymar had never fallen asleep smiling before, but he found it made for sweet, _sweet_ dreams, and the most peaceful rest he'd ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knew writing smut was so hard?  
> Also, with the way things are going right now for Barça, it's a good thing they won't be having sex after losses anymore, otherwise Neymar would have become unfit quite fast (what a depressing thought).
> 
> Well, at any rate I hoped you enjoyed it, and that it helped satiate your Neymessi needs, if only a little !


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